The more Things Change... 01/18/24

Sometimes we pull comic ideas out of thin air. Sometimes we get them from things that happen in our own lives. And sometimes from things we observe. This one happened right in front of my eyes. There I was on a Saturday, one day before the end of the regular NFL season. We live with an open kitchen design, so the “living room” and “kitchen” are just sort of one big open space divided by a counter. Consequently, when I watch football and my wife invites two of her closest friends over to bake for a party we’ve been invited to, somebody is going to be inconvenienced. A few polite “Honey, could you turn that down” requests from my wife later, I retorted with one of my patented comebacks, “I happen to know you can hardly hear the tv. You know how I know? Because I can hardly hear the tv!” Unlike Sam in the comic, I did not end up in the bedroom watching the game on my phone. That was John’s brilliant invention. Nope. I held firm and watched in the living room. So, I could still see the game. I just couldn't hear the game. Ahh, the art of compromise.

And now about the New Year’s resolution. If you watch any amount of television, and remember, John and I spent almost 40 years apiece creating television commercials (this was before the days when people could fast forward past said commercials) you will notice that they are all for diet pills, diet programs, and most of all, gym memberships. Planet Fitness and Crunch Fitness come to mind. If the gym has enough treadmills, ellipticals, bikes and weight machines for say 100 people, they sell maybe 200 memberships. This is because they know full well that the gym will be crowded in the beginning of January with all those people swearing they’ll stick to a routine “this time,” while knowing full well that most people will come in, have to wait for a machine to free up, and then go home frustrated, never to come back again. So, by February the place is down to the 50 or 60 regulars who always go to the gym. A couple days ago, I went to my gym. Two people were together, approaching the lat pulldown machine that I wanted to use. It’s January, what did I expect? Anyway, the two people approaching the machine consisted of a thin man and a guy with a large pot belly. The thin guy sat down at the lat machine while the pot-bellied guy gave him instructions. Yes, that’s right, he turned out to be his trainer! Oh well, it’ll be February soon enough.

Have a nice weekend and we will see you next week, as they used to say on Batman, same Bat Time, same Bat Channel.

Andy and John

Moving In. 10/27/23

So about moving into a smaller space after you’ve lived a long time in a house full of kids and pets. It’s an adjustment. I don’t care what anybody says. Take the case of Al and Joanne in their new apartment. His train set, which once had its own place in the basement of the house, is now stuffed into the laundry room. I remember when I was a kid my dad had a big Lionel train set. We had a basement and the basement had a ping pong table which no one ever used after the first couple months. So, down came the net and up went the Lionel Train set. The coolest thing I remember is it came with a rocket launcher and an exploding box car. Was Lionel training us to become terrorists? I don’t know but it was pretty damn cool. Here’s how it worked: You set the train in motion around the track. You had a separate hand-held rocket launcher which fired the rocket in an arc. You had to time it exactly so the rocket would land on the exploding box car and if you were lucky (maybe one out of every 10 tries) you hit the box car and it would “explode into about 4 pieces. Trust me, the only thing cooler was my Rock ‘em Sock ‘em robot game. When you connect with the other robot’s jaw, “Boingggggg” the head would pop off the shoulders on a spring as you “knocked his block off.” Damn, we had a lot of violent games back then. But back to Al.

His once scenic train set now has to lie under a clothesline of wet laundry. And hey, he’s lucky. A couple weeks ago, I took a wet rug and hung it over the railing of our deck. Wouldn’t you know it but some snoopy neighbor took a picture of it and sent it to the management company and I got a snooty letter asking me to please refrain from ever hanging anything over the balcony again. Apparently, it was an eyesore. I thought it was a nice rug, but beauty is in the eye of the beholder. And there you have it. Apartment living makes life easier. Until it doesn’t.

Okay then. By the time this is published I’ll have been halfway around the world and back, and hopefully will have many funny experiences to share with John and ultimately you all. Thanks for following us and thank you to those of you who have bought the book and written such glowing reviews. We truly appreciate it. See you in November,

Andy and John

Here Comes Summer. 05/19/23

If you’ve gotten this far, you’ve likely seen both of today’s comics already. One dealt (mercifully) with Al’s final game as an ump. And the other deals with Marv settling in for the season with his new backyard setup. But first a word about the strip. Well it seems that Andy (that’s me) turned 70 last week, which begs the question, can a 70-year old still write about life in your 60’s? And the answer is, hell yeah. And John is still squarely in his 60’s. I can hear you 60 somethings sitting back there saying, I still play tennis while you play pickleball, I ride a real bike while you ride an e-bike, I walk 18 holes, blah, blah, blah. Let me tell you something, I can do everything you 60-year olds can do. Just not quite as well. And to tell the truth, I haven’t yet tried pickleball. Besides, as John points out, Charlie Brown never aged, nor did Lucy, or Popeye. And neither did Beetle Bailey, Dagwood Bumstead or for that matter, Dick Tracy. So the New 60 will continue to be the New 60, and besides, John is 5 years younger. And he plays tennis. And rides a real bike. Far. Which gets us back to summer.

Sure Al tried his hand at umping the boys of summer, but a brutal collision at home plate, getting barreled over by an aggressive 8-year old, ends his newest career path. Which is a good thing, because sooner or later he was bound to call his grandson Billy out at the plate, and who knows where that would’ve gone? Actually we do, but we’re not telling.

And then there’s Marv in his new backyard setup. When you have dreams like building a pool, buying a sports car or (in my wife’s case) traveling to Bhutan, if you don’t do it now, when are you gonna do it? Now is the time to go for it. Unless you’re like the long-suffering fans of the old Brooklyn Dodgers who, upon losing to the hated Yankees year after year (except for 1955 when they finally beat them), adopted the famous slogan, “Wait ‘til next year.”

Have a wonderful weekend, and we’ll be back next week with two new ones.

Andy and John

Gone Phishing

Hello again. We’re baaaack! This time with a three part series about Phishing. Now we regaled you in a past blog entitled “Help Line,” about the horrors of phishing. To refresh your memories, what happened is that I got hacked. Deeply hacked. Someone went on what has come to be called a “Phishing Expedition” and attempted to steal all my personal financial information. They didn’t get it, but not before I had to change every password I’ve come to rely on. And if you are over 60, you know how vexing it is to remember multiple passwords, let alone one. So we’ve got a couple questions for you. Why is it called phishing instead of fishing? Don’t these people know how to spell? I remember a Latin teacher in 7th grade who said, “You think LATIN is tough, try learning English for the first time.” And then he wrote on the blackboard “gh-o-ti,” and said “fish.” The “gh” sound comes from the word “enough'“ the “o” sound from “women,” and the “ti” from “nation.” Fish. The rock band “Phish” ought to sue whoever called this habit “phishing,” but I digress. How did these clowns get into my computer in the first place? Oh wait, that’s because I inadvertently let them in. But that’s precisely the point. You know what was the most galling thing about it? When I explained what had happened, no matter how sympathetic the listener was, I got a chorus of “Oh Andy, you didn’t.” John for instance said, “You know I was warning my mother about the same thing.” I got so many responses from people in my general age group telling me about how they had to help their parents from getting trapped in a phishing scam that I was wondering, how come nobody warned me not too fall in this trap? And your parents??? I’m not your parents’ age, I’m your age. But at least John knew how to recognize the warning signs so that I can now catch them, and if not for John, Sid’s dialogue about phishing would not have qualified as good advice. So thanks John for teaching me and our readers (in part 3 - you’ll have to wait until next week) how to recognize the signs, but no thanks for making me feel even older than I actually am (though truth be told, I am 5 years older than him). Ugh.

It seems these scams get more and more sophisticated as time goes on. One is to call people our parent’s age and pretend to be one of their grandchildren. Something along the lines of, “Hello grandma? This is Timmy. I got into an accident and my car is in a ditch and I’ve got no way to get home. If you could send me $200 for a car service to pick me up I’d be soooo grateful.” And even though the call doesn't sound like Timmy, and even though Timmy parent’s are very much alive and able to help, these poor people are shaken and end up giving pertinent information about their bank accounts in order to help. In my particular case I was led to a totally professional webpage that said “Best Buy Refund Page.” Turns out being a digital pioneer is a lot tougher than it seems. For instance, my wife and I are staying at one of our kids’ houses soon to babysit their daughter and our beloved granddaughter (obviously, one in the same person). They have a tv and a remote, and gave me specific instructions on how to use it. I’m bringing along a book just in case I can’t figure it out again. But it’s an ebook, so it’s still digital, Well, kinda digital.

Have a great weekend and we’ll be back next Friday with the conclusion of the Phishing Expedition as well as a brand new one on a whole other kind of online scam.

Andy and John

Ever Try Changing Clothes in a car? Don't. 09/23/22

Earlier this summer, our son was invited to a friend’s wedding and was one of the groomsmen. My wife and I were invited as well. We had rented a beach house and drove, in our flip flops, shorts and tees, from Long Island to pick up our son at LaGuardia airport, to then proceed to the Catskill mountains, on a Friday afternoon, at rush hour. The total distance was approximately 2-3 light years. One of my favorite sayings is: Man Plans, God laughs. Our plan was to drive to the hotel where the kids were staying, drop our son off, giving him time to change into nice clothes for the rehearsal dinner. Then we’d go to our hotel, where all the old folks were staying, and change into the outfits we’d picked out for the dinner. It would make a hectic day seem a bit more relaxed. Brilliant right? What happened next gave us enough fodder to make this a 3-part saga, so we can't tell you the ending until next week’s blog. But think about this. If it’s true that when an ordinary man (or woman) makes plans, it causes God to laugh, then just think about how God reacts when AL attempts to make a plan. Trust us, God has plenty of new material.

What happened was there was a little bit of traffic. Okay, a lot of traffic. And cell phone service, once you get to the mountains, ohh, how can I say this politely, sucks the big one. Which means no Waze. Which means in addition to being late, we were lost. We dropped our son off and as we got to his hotel, the entire wedding party was leaving. So we waited for our son to change, and then we drove him to the rehearsal dinner so he wouldn't miss the whole thing. Now it was so late, if we turned back to our hotel, we’d have no chance to make it back to the rehearsal dinner in time. So we went to the upper parking lot, lined in gravel the size of rocks. Looked around and saw it was empty, and proceeded to pull our suitcases from the trunk and change, standing up, in the lot. The full Monty. I know it’s a pain to change while sitting in the car, but this was somehow worse. Imagine, if you will, standing on one foot on this big-rock gravel while attempting to put your opposite foot into your pants leg. The good news is we made it and had a great time. The bad news is I am still picking gravel out of my socks. But when I told this story to John, he immediately saw it taking place in a car, which, I must admit, is a hell of a lot funnier visually. And you wind up avoiding rocks in your socks.

That is it for this week, we will see you next week with the last comic in this series plus we’re starting a brand new three-parter about computer help lines. Trust us, they aren’t the least bit helpful.

Andy and John

Do's and Don'ts While Dining Out

Let’s face it, sports talk and dating and dining usually don’t mix. But don’t worry, because in our case they’re the subject of two completely unrelated comics. Let’s go with the genesis of the first comic (second in your scroll), about refraining from sports talk when you go out with company. A couple of months ago, my wife and I went out to dinner with another couple to a loud restaurant. In an effort to not make it boys sitting across from each other and girls sitting across from each other, I suggested mixing it up so the husband of one couple faced the wife of the other, and vice versa. This resulted in each couple talking across each other and since it was hard to hear in the first place, well… you get the idea. Epic fail, as the millennials would say. Put another way, my idea was a bad idea. At one point I was hogging the conversation, rambling on about politics, when my wife subtly smashed my foot under the table, to which I replied, “Oww, why’d you do that???” On recounting this tale to John, we reworked it so Al and Joanne made a pre-dinner deal that he wasn’t allowed to dominate the conversation with sports talk. Sports, politics, same idea. John came up with the idea of making a pre-dinner deal on the way to the restaurant. When I saw how well that worked out in the comic, I decided that it was a good idea to try at home from now on. I’ll let you know how that works.

Our other comic deals with a phenomenon that you see in fancy places. Older, distinguished-looking men with considerably younger women. I observed such a pair when going out to a special dinner in NYC with friends. Both of us guys were celebrating our birthdays. When we got seated, I noticed a banquette in front of me, with an older guy, replete with a three-piece suit, tie, pocket square, and cufflinks. If I’m calling him old, suffice it to say, he appeared as if his best days were behind him. Suddenly a cute young woman, in her late 20’s at most, slides into the banquette beside him. Hmm, I said, to my companions, check this out. We weren’t sure if he was in a second marriage and this was his daughter, or whether he was married only once and it was his granddaughter. Then she scoots over right next to him, puts her arm around his shoulder and starts whispering into and kissing his ear. And I, master of the obvious, said, that is not his granddaughter. The ending of the comic kinda wrote itself (John hates when I say things like this, because if it wrote itself, you wouldn’t need us). So it didn’t write itself but the situation was so perfect we didn’t have to do too much to alter the reality of it. My wife and my friend’s wife said Something like, “Ewww, gross,” and my friend and I readily agreed just how absolutely gross it was (nudge, nudge, wink, wink). Well, that’s it except for one final coda to the story. When we left the restaurant, the snuggling couple was still there, and my wife took a look at the young lady on our way out. When we got on the sidewalk, she told me, “By the way, she was not his girlfriend. Did you notice the huge rock on her finger? (No, I was looking elsewhere). She’s married to him.”

And with that, have a great weekend and a happy July.

Andy and John

Ahh, Baseball and Fresh Dirt. What could be better? 5/13/22

With summer rapidly approaching, our thoughts turn to baseball. And since this is the New 60 Comic, we turned to the joys of taking your grandchild to a baseball game. As summer rituals go, this one can’t be beat. But, it gets even better when it comes to teaching your kids (and now grandkids) how to keep a proper baseball scorecard, a feat both John and I managed to pass down. My first job out of college was as a sportswriter for the Pawtucket Times, and part of that job was, from time to time, to be an official scorekeeper for the beloved minor league team, the Pawtucket Red Sox. Trust me when I say it didn’t pay well. You got $4.50 for the scorecard you turned in to the league and an additional $4.50 for the one you turned in to the team. I learned this one night when covering for the sports editor for the local newspaper (my boss) who was attending the wedding of his 8th or 9th chlld (I didn’t do such a hot job of keeping score of how many children this guy had). Before the game ended he called from the wedding to tell me to just leave the scorecards on the scorer’s table, and he’d turn them in. When I turned to a fellow reporter who worked for the Woonsocket Call and asked why my editor would ask me such a thing, he replied, “Because he’s a cheap bastard who was thinking about the $9 bucks he was missing out on.” That summed up my editor perfectly. Anyway, suffice it to say that the experience made me into a pretty good scorekeeper. For instance, do you know what it’s called when a guy steals a base and the catcher doesn’t try to throw him out? Defensive Indifference, and it goes in the scorebook as DI. Did you know when the pitcher walks a batter, you don’t score it as a “W” for walk, but a BB for “Base on Balls?” Did you know when a pitcher strikes a guy out, it doesn’t get scored as an “SO” it gets scored as a “K?” Unless the batter strikes out without swinging his bat, in which case it goes into the books as a backwards K (there’s no way to type that on a computer)? Did you know, and more importantly, do you care? Well, it’s a time-honored tradition to pass this skill along to the next generation, but it is becoming a lost art form. When my dad used to take me to games, he’d buy a scorebook and pencil for 0.15 cents. And he’d lose interest in scoring by about the 6th inning. So is it any wonder that when Al teaches his grandson, the kid takes his eye off the ball, so to speak, and turns said eye to a gigantic swirl of cotton candy? I’m proud to say that my son, even at age 7, would’ve known how the bases got loaded, and besides, he never cared much for candy. My wife and I used to routinely steal his Halloween candy and when he got a little older, he’d just hand it to us.

Our other comic this week goes to the joys of grandparenthood (is that even a word?). Unlike scorekeeping, which never changes from one generation to the next, the rules of being a parent, and therefore a grandparent, are constantly changing. Hence when you treat your grandchildren the way you treated your own children, you may be out of step with current thinking. Our childhoods were more laissez-faire. When we said we were going bike riding with our friends, our parents said, “Okay, just make sure you’re home for dinner by 6.” Not so much anymore. Nowadays the parent drops the kid off for a playdate, and then the playdate parent says “You can ride your bikes but just around the block and don’t you dare go into the street!” So it is in this changing environment that Al falls a bit short of his daughter’s expectations. Although both John and I thought his comeback was pretty good. Anyway, it’s a new dynamic. We were used to telling our kids what to do, but when it comes to taking care of their kids, they’re the ones telling us what to do. Although we still might let them stay up a half-hour after their appointed bedtimes, but shhh, please don’t tell.

Have a terrific weekend and we will be back next week with two new ones.

Andy and John

Badvertising 03/11/22

In last week’s blog we reminisced about how much advertising has changed. This week, it’s more of the same. Hey, many of you have asked about us doing more multi-part series so here it is. Trouble is, we then have to write the blog about the same subject we wrote about last week. Okay, it won’t be exactly the same. It’ll be the same, only different. Glad we cleared that up. This is how targeted advertising has become. Say you were looking for some living room furniture. You type into your search engine the word “sofa.” Now the data scientists of the ad world know you are over 50, otherwise you would have typed in “couch.” Furthermore they know you like soft, overstuffed things so they serve you ads for easy chairs, recliners, extra fluffy pillows, etc. And they know you like the color “yellow” (I just made that part up). So it’s all about data collection, and then how to micro-target all that data to the exact right person. And who doesn’t want to read an entire blog about data collection?

The point is, I can sound like I know what I’m talking about, but I actually have no clue what I’m talking about. The ad business has gone from two weeks in Beverly Hills, driving a Mustang Convertible, and going to Nobu for dinner, to coming up with an “event” and then an invitation to said “event.” Like Tecate Beer Tuesdays at your local taqueria. So a copywriter, which is what I used to be, has to come up with clever lines like, “Music, fun and friends! Join us for Tecate Tuesday’s at Mole Mole in beautiful, downtown Poughkeepsie!” Oh, and they love exclamation marks. Absolutely love them!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Now I don’t know about you but I’d rather be shooting a commercial with Brad Pitt and Penelope Cruz sipping cold ones on a beach in sunny Acapulco, but this is what the business has become. And if you’re really lucky these days, you can shoot a video of people drinking beers at the aforementioned Mole Mole on your iphone, edit it on your computer, and then run it on Twitter for under $5,000, soup to nuts. Which version of advertising would you rather be in?

Happily John and I discovered comics instead which is wayyyy more rewarding (except for the getting paid part).

So that’s it for this week, we’ll be back next week with another multi-parter. And before you know it, Spring will have sprung.

Have a great weekend,

Andy and John

Good Eatin' 8/27/21

This week we become food obsessed. Okay, okay, we’re always food obsessed. Because face it, once you’re firmly in your 60’s, what else are you going to become obsessed with? 

The point is not everything works the way it used to work. Which is why we came back to food. In the first comic, we return to Al’s franchise, Pizza-on-a-Stick. One of the employees came up with a brilliant idea for dessert, Spumoni-on-a-Stick. What’s the plural of that? “I’ll take 6 Spumoni-on-a-Sticks please?” Or “I’ll take 6 Spumonis-on-a-Stick please?” These are the kinds of meaningful debates John and I engage in. The second one sounds better but the first one is right. Plus, John draws the strip so he won, not that I’m a sore loser or anything. To put the final ribbon on the bow I asked my daughter, an excellent grammarian, which version she preferred. She said, “I know the second one sounds right but the first one is actually correct. You’d order a cheeseburger or 6 cheeseburgers. So…” When she’s right and she agrees with John, it just doesn’t seem fair. But I’ll tell you this, if you come into Pizza-on-a-Stick and order 6 Spumonis-on-a-Stick, I promise not to be literal like John and pile 6 scoops of spumoni on one stick. I know this is fiction, but who the hell would do that?

Okay, now that THAT’S off my chest, let’s go to comic #2, Al’s backyard vegetable garden. John and I have a mutual friend Chris who built a magnificent garden with raised beds and every natural method of maintenance and pest control. John tried to mimic it as best he could, and when I had a house, I maintained a vegetable garden as well but much more basic. Why? For one thing I’m not very good with my hands (a common affliction among us Jews) and secondly, my love of vegetables stops at salads. But the point is, these gardens are a TON of work and they yield very little until you get overrun by cherry tomatoes during the last of summer, and end up having to shovel half of them into the soil so they make for a rich mulch the following summer. Sure, it’s a great thrill to go into the garden and pick out your salad or dinner for the night, but if you stop off at the farmstand on your way home, that works too. Plus, the cost/benefit ratio is a bit out of whack, as Al’s son Sid gleefully points out.

So, as Porky Pig said, Th-th-that’s all folks (at least for this week). We will be back next week with two new ones that take us up to Labor Day! Where does the time go?

Have a great weekend,

Andy and John